The warrior surprised him, laughing rather than attacking. “Are you fifteen? A little some-some. Really? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

He shrugged. He’d heard his friends call the act many ridiculous things.

“Also,” Galen added. “You need to work on forgiveness. Words hurt.”

“So do daggers.” To end the conversation, he flashed to the bedroom and placed the sandwich on the nightstand.

Katarina still slept. He was loath to disturb her, and yet need for her consumed him. He knew the bliss of her touch and now suspected there would never be a moment when he wouldn’t crave it.

He decided to distract himself by granting her a boon she hadn’t asked for...at the same time proving just how much she did, in fact, need him.

He made an adjustment in his mind. Because, according to Hades, he could always flash home. A loophole in the king’s plan to keep him contained. For the next few minutes, he considered Aleksander’s country estate his home. He flashed and stalked through the halls. Each of the male’s closest advisors and guards had a room, and he flashed in and out so swiftly, he went unnoticed. It was only a matter of time before he found Katarina’s brother, lying on a floor, a tourniquet tied to his arm, a needle sticking out of his vein.

The male was passed out, vomit pooling under his head. If he hadn’t been turned on his side, he would have suffocated to death already.

Kill. A command born of anger rather than a possible risk to their survival.

No. Despite everything the male had done to Katarina, she would mourn him. Or rather, mourn the boy he’d once been.

Baden grabbed him by the hair and flashed to the cell where he’d kept Aleksander. Where Aleksander’s severed hand still remained, he realized, allowing him to continuously flash without having to adjust his thought process. He then flashed in food, bottles of water and a bucket. Enough supplies to last a week.

He texted Torin to find out if anything else would be needed and ended up raiding a pharmacy to gather meds that would help with detoxing.

The male would get clean, whether he wanted to do so or not.

We’ll be rewarded? Destruction asked.

Yes, and Baden knew just what he wanted...

21

“I handle my problems the old-fashioned way. Gasoline and a match.”

—Kane, former keeper of Disaster

CAMEO’S MIND BUZZED with depressing statistics as she watched the clock. There were nearly two hundred million orphans in the world, and nearly fifteen percent of them would commit suicide before turning eighteen. Over twenty thousand children died every year due to poverty.

Naturally, every minute—every second—was agony.

But finally, blessedly, the last of her friends retired to his bedroom. The coast was clear, her friends now busy having sex.

Proof: soft laughter and breathy moans drifted from cracks in the walls.

Let the marathon begin, she thought with no small amount of envy. After the attack at the fortress, everyone was relieved to be alive and now that they were healed, they were celebrating privately.

There were, of course, two stains on their happiness. William’s abduction of Gilly and Baden’s most recent move. Everyone worried he would be killed again. But Galen—the piece of shit—had been texting updates about the male, and so far all was well. There’d been no real problems, the human girl, Katarina, keeping Baden centered.

The way Lazarus once kept me centered?

Cameo had to know. Desperation clawed at her. Hope taunted her. She had the chance to taste happiness again—she had to taste happiness again.

And now, she had a plan.

According to what she’d been told, she’d met Lazarus when she was sucked into another realm. So, it stood to reason she could meet him again if she allowed herself to be sucked back into the other realm.

For such a journey, she needed three artifacts and a painting. The Cloak of Invisibility, the Paring Rod and the Cage of Compulsion. The painting had been done by Danika, the All-seeing Eye, who was able to see into heaven and hell. The pretty blonde gave life to the things she saw, those images acting as a guide through the realms. Without the right painting, Cameo could end up farther away from Lazarus.

The good news? When Keeley had flashed the women and children to the safe house, she’d flashed the artifacts and paintings, too.

The bad news? The artifacts and paintings were locked up, and Cameo hadn’t been given a key.

Her friends knew her and had guessed her plan before she’d even conceived it. I’m going back to him...going back to Lazarus.

Her heart fluttered wildly, and a thousand butterflies danced in her stomach.

I know Lazarus, Strider had told her. He might have scarified his life for mine, but his reasons were not altruistic. He’s dangerous, the son of a creature known as the father of all monsters.

Did Lazarus’s reasons for saving Strider really matter? He’d saved her friend. How bad could he truly be?

And really, Lazarus’s sacrifice got him trapped in another realm and made him a spirit being. A spirit being she must have touched. How else would he have made her happy?

I want to touch him again. I want him to touch me.

Pleasure...oh, how she craved it.

I don’t think you’re hearing us, Kaia had piped up. Lazarus is the consort of a Harpy. A Harpy who will come for him—and you!—if she discovers his spirit is out there and you’re trying to get your groove on with it.

One, from the info Cameo had managed to glean, Lazarus had never considered the Harpy his mate. And two, if there was even the slightest chance she could change the course of her life for the better, she had to go for it. Which meant she had to do a little breaking and entering tonight. Once she had the artifacts in her possession, she had to say goodbye to her friends.

This time, when she entered the realm, she might not be coming back.

* * *

Gillian knew she’d reached the end of the line. The last stop on the road of her life. The place where she would take her eternal dirt nap.

Stick a fork in me, I’m done.

She couldn’t sleep, didn’t even have the strength to toss and turn, and her body hurt as if countless needles had been plunged into every organ. Her hands and feet were ice-cold, making it impossible for the rest of her to get warm. Every time she managed to take a breath, she heard a strange wheeze.

Puck had told her she’d have a few weeks to live, but she hadn’t even made it a full week.